


Never lose your nerve on the follow through

by Laekin



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laekin/pseuds/Laekin
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures and Albus Dumbledore has always been the architect of the long game.This plot bunny spun out of a 5 second moment in the movie and my hopeless fascination with Gramander.  So this is effectively canon compliant with a couple of twists.  Because Albus Dumbledore is a crafty chess player and the strongest pieces on his board are an American Auror and Magiczoologist.AKA a very unusual partnership.





	1. Prologue

The old cabin hung precariously atop a cliff, threatening any moment to plunge into the turbulent English Chanel below. Yet, despite its rickety mien it had held fast to its rocky foundation for centuries; a silent witness to untold secrets.

Though on this night it would play host to one of its most clandestine meetings yet.

Three men had gathered. Initially only the two, only at the end of a desperate argument was the third summoned. That had been hours ago, the back and forth of explanation and discussion having carried all three men late into the night.

Now, two of them stood out on a cragged balcony, shoulder to shoulder with their heads bowed towards one another, they finished up their goodbyes. Their heights were closely matched, though that was there the similarities stopped, the elder was seemed taller, with his ramrod straight spine and hints of silver in his hair, the younger adopting a perpetual slouch, that made his whipcord frame as small as possible.

The third man, taller than the others, sat on a half broken bench. His long, lean frame relaxed against a wall, though the alert focus of his hazel green eyes, suggested an intensity that belied his casual body language. A battered leather case sat beside the bench, seemingly ignored by the sitter, who pensively stroked his already impressive beard. Yet, when small claws and a curious nose pushed through the half latched case seam, the man’s long fingered hand moved swiftly.

Dumbledore caught the Niffler by its scruff the split second before the little creature could make a break for it. Lifting the creature upwards, he used his other hand to support its hind quarters, cradling it securely so as not to distress it. Dumbledore pulled the billed snout close so he could look in the animal’s eyes, his own gaze was soft and twinkling with a subdued but genuine mischief.

“I don’t think you need to be going anywhere, hmmm?” He said, his voice already the low and soothing rumble that his students would know for decades. The Niffler gave a little shift, like a naughty student caught out after curfew, but then it relaxed in the hold, relenting its attempt to escape.

Dumbledore smiled and he leaned towards the case, intending to return its small occupant, when suddenly he paused. Glancing out towards the pair on the balcony, they were silent now and simply stood side by side watching the rising grey of the coming dawn. Dumbledore slowly straightened, drawing the Niffler in close to his chest as his handsome features settled back into a pensive, worried frown.

After a moment, he turned and looked at the Niffler. He held the creature’s gaze, the Niffler, for once, not immediately looking away.

“I may need your help.” Dumbledore intoned in a pensive voice. The Niffler cocked its head, looking dubious. “Yes,” the professor continued. “You might well be the very thing to ensure this plan works.”

Out on the balcony Percival Graves, Auror and Director of Magical Security stood quietly next to Newt Scamander, Magizoologist. They had been talking and riding out awkward silences for almost an hour. The conversation was starting to cycle and though Graves recognized this fact, he still could not stop the words as they fell from his lips.

“You don’t have too…”

“Again?” Newt asked, his tone both incredulous and affectionate. “Are we going to …”

“I’m just trying to say…”

“Yes, I know.” Newt began, his tone losing the affection and taking on a tinge of exasperation. “I got it the first time when Professor Dumbl…”

“You weren’t even listening the first time Albus …” Percival interrupted, glancing over with a stern and knowing look.

“I most certainly was,” this time it was Newt’s turn to interrupt and he turned to look at Graves, his expression affronted. Rather than apologize, Graves held the younger man’s gaze, with a solid intensity until Newt was forced to look away, shrugging slightly. “Right. I may have missed a couple of words.”

The stern expression softened and Graves reached up and rested his palm along the other’s shoulder.

“This plan …” he began, his voice low and intense.

“Is quite mad.” Newt finished, exhaling a slow breath before he turned. Though he slid his shoulder out from beneath Graves’ hand, he reached up and gently clasped the other’s long fingers, gripping them for a moment before shifting his hold to the sleeve of the Auror’s thick, dark coat. “And if we go over it, again, I’m liable to realize the fact and back out.”

The truth tumbled from his lips without pause, forcing his pale features into an apologetic expression. He sighed and worried his fingers against the warm wool of Graves’ coat, his eyes shifting away from the older man’s face and skittering across the cracked and crumbling stone beneath their feet.

“But there is no other option,” he said, peeking up and then away once again. “This is our best, our only hope to catch Grindelwald.” As he said the name, his blue eyes locked on Graves’ dark gaze, the intensity such to catch a person off guard. “This is your last chance.”

It was a statement, not a question and under the sharp scrutiny of those pale eyes, Graves could not deny the claim. He looked back into the dark cabin behind them, at Dumbledore the primary architect of this madness. The wizard who knew Grindelwald best, an advisor who had been ignored by the Ministry until it was too late. The MACUSA was determined not to make the same mistake.

Percival Graves was determined not to make the same mistake, but it was foolish not to recognize that he was risking everything on this throw of the dice. However, he glanced away first, nodding in confirmation of everything Newt said.

The younger man realized that, until that moment, a part of him had been holding out hope that Graves and Dumbledore would pull an entirely different rabbit out of their hats; wizarding pun not intended. They were the only two people in the world who Newt trusted, he liked to place his faith in the creatures he studied, over the people he lived amongst.

His favorite professor and his husband were the only exceptions to the rule, and of course, it was these two who had drawn him into a plan that was more inclined to fail, than to succeed. Truly their last option and a mark of how desperate the situation was within the magical community.

Exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Newt turned and rested his head against Percival’s shoulder, his face turned back to the interior of the cabin behind them. After a moment, he felt Graves’ lips nuzzle the top of his head in an affectionate kiss. Dropping the sleeve of the coat, he brushed his fingers across his husband’s palm, the tips dancing against Graves’ in a private mode of communication they’d developed over the years.

“Right. We’d best get about it then.” Newt said, straightening, and without looking back at Graves’ face he hunched his shoulders, shifted his weight a bit awkwardly and then ducked back into the cabin.

Graves turned, more slowly, his shoulders squared and tight as he watched Newt stop and cock his head in a perplexed expression as Dumbledore was finishing setting the latches on the battered old case.

“This is absolute insanity, “he said quietly to himself, meeting Dumbledore’s gaze from across Newt’s back. There was a quiet desperation in the other man’s expression, suggesting that Albus held the same reservations as Percival.

With his case secure, Newt straightened up, catching the look being passed between the two older men. He was still for a moment, before a quirky little smile worked its way across his features.

“Come along then, stop …” he fluttered his slender fingers at them in a pointed gesture, “dallying about.”

Honestly, this was why so many wizards had problems with the dangerous creatures of their world. They’d lose their nerve on the follow through. Never lose your nerve on the follow through.


	2. Oh Bugger Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, to everybody who has commented on the prologue! I'm having a lot of fun working on and sharing this project.
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn't upset the applecart too much. I think there are enough hints about what might be going on, because I honestly don't mean to make this too much of a cliffhanger.

The ship steamed majestically through the harbor, giving its sea weary passengers a tantalizing view of the New York sky line. Most of the passengers pressed along the ship’s railings, exclaiming in a chatter of various languages but a common sense of excitement at being near the end of their long journey and so close to an exciting city.

One passenger, however, sat quietly on a bench. He had the space to himself, which suited him quite well as he leaned forward resting his arms along his legs. Newt watched the tall buildings stacked together like so much cordwood … 

_‘It’s like a forest, Newt beautiful in its own way.’_

_‘I’ve seen pictures. Looks like a rat’s maze.’_

_Gentle laughter wrapped around affectionate words. ‘You won’t feel that way when you see it, yourself.’_

The memory came unbidden and though Newt recognized his own dismissive tones, the other voice was distant, like a word that tickled the tip of his tongue but the harder he tried to grasp at it the further away it got. He’d been experiencing these odd flashes since his mentor from Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, had summoned him from the Sudan and tasked him with helping to return an illegally trafficked thunderbird.

_Snick._

The sound of one of the latches on his case flicking open caught his attention and Newt quickly pulled himself out of his musings, glancing down at the case. His creatures had been trapped in the case for the entirety of the voyage; he hadn’t dared let them out, even for a peek and many of them were antsier than the young children running to and fro across the deck.

“Settle down,” he cooed; even as he reached down to reset the latch. “Soon.”

The case seemed to rustle, and he couldn’t help but smile at it with a ridiculous amount of affection. Newt was aware of being the subject of a few odd looks, but it didn’t bother him. He never let the opinion of other people bother him, people were impossible to please and he found it quite fruitless to worry about making the attempt.

The ship docked without incident and Newt disembarked likewise. There was a brief moment of tension as he handed his battered British passport to the Immigration officer and had to employ the case’s muggleworthy disguise. But Newt’s quiet, slightly odd demeanor seemed to fit with the simple items packed in the case and the officer had waved him through without further remark.

Newt found himself at loose ends. He was only to pass through New York on his way to Arizona, which meant he needed to get to the closest train station that could book him passage across this ridiculously wide country. His opinion of the city, likening it to stacks of cordwood, had not softened as he walked along the busy streets. 

People hustled and bustled along with a purpose, occasionally casting the lanky man with his befuddled gait an annoyed glare as they passed him by. Newt paid them no more mind than he’d paid the curious onlookers aboard the steamer. There was a certain unique rhythm to this city, to this country and Newt found himself drawn by his own natural curiosity, away from his strict path to the train station.

The strong, strident voice of a woman rang clearly out across the sounds of traffic, her words serving as something of a draw to the Magiczoologist. 

“…the Second Salemers, in our fight!”

Though the entirety of the Atlantic separated the two countries, all First Years at Hogwarts learned about the horrors of the Salem Witch Trials. Hearing ‘Salemer’ was a draw that Newt could not ignore, though he listened curiously to the woman as she passionately pleaded her case. Her words reminded him of quotes he’d heard in the wizarding papers; quotes made by the infamous Grindelwald.

Only Grindelwald was saying them about Muggles. Grindelwald was trying to drag the entire Wizarding world into a war with the Muggles. He was incredible powerful, charismatic and those wizards who didn’t fall under the spell of his words, feel quickly to the dark magic flowing from the wand he wielded. Though Newt had often been accused of being perpetually preoccupied from current events, he was not unaware of the threat posed to the world; to both worlds by Grindelwald.

Glancing around at the gathered crowd, he tried to get a read for how engaged the other Muggles were to the woman’s words. Was this crowd as hostile towards the idea of witches as the woman who spoke so passionately against them? It was a curious thing, that while he could see the odd head nodding in affirmation of the hateful spew, the majority looked confused and unsure. 

Newt was used to seeing similar expressions in the eyes of some of his creatures. Wariness, certainly and the attempt to assess a potential threat; ready to defend against a threat but otherwise peaceable. What would happen if Grindelwald got his way and pushed the Muggles to respond to a threat from wizarding kind? It was a rhetorical question. Newt had seen, all too often, what the end result would be. Death, in equal measure between hunter and hunted. 

_’It is the rising dark of our reality, and I greatly fear that we have only this slim window of opportunity in which to buy ourselves time.’_ This voice he knew; Dumbledore.

_‘The risk is too great, Albus. There has to be another way, and he’s not trained for this.’_

_‘ **He's** standing right here,’_ Newt recognized his own indignant tones and for a split moment, he felt as if he could recall the entire conversation, only to have it slip away from him; like water through his fingers.

Releasing the frustrating lack of recollection, he forced himself back into the moment, studying the crowd, caught up in his scientific examination of the Muggles around him. With his head turned sharply to the left, he didn’t see the person pushing through at his other side, oblivious to the collision until his right shoulder was roughly jarred, causing him to briefly drop his case.

“Sorry, excuse me,” said a genuine but distracted male tone as a stout, slightly portly man bustled through the crowd and towards the stairs upon which the woman stood.

“No problem.” Newt said in a quiet tone, earning a quick glance and a friendly sort of casual smile before the man’s focused turned back to the stairs and the bank, ah yet a bank, just beyond.

Bank.

“You, friend …” the woman’s voice became pointed and there was an awkward moment before Newt realized she was addressing him.

What followed was one of the more surreal conversations he’d ever had in his life, particularly when she used it to punch up her anti-witch rhetoric. Before he could think up an appropriate (or actually it probably would have been painfully inappropriate) response, Newt became aware that his case was now short one Niffler.

A Niffler that was making rapid tracks up and into the bank.

A combination of exasperation and fear raced cold fingers along Newt’s spine and he politely excused himself, never mind that he was excusing himself away from a question, which was grossly impolite, he pushed past the crowd and gave chase to his Niffler. Careening into bank, Newt was hopelessly distracted as the first Muggle approached him and inquired after his business. 

“Can I help you, sir?” The words were edged in a cool, polite suspicion, as Newt did present something of an odd figure against the rest of the bank clientele. It didn’t help that rather than turning towards the official looking Muggle, the wizard continued to scan the atrium, searching for his little fuzzy thief. 

In any other circumstances, Newt would have explained his business, with embarrassing clarity and simply careened away from the man, deeming both him and his question as unimportant. However, as he started down the road of hopeless distraction Newt was once again struck with one of those odds, wisps of memory.

_‘Merlin’s beard, Newt. You can’t go around blurting out that you’re just chasing a Grindylow in the middle of a No-M … sorry, in the middle of a Muggle market.’_

_‘Why not? It’s what I was doing.’_

_‘I’m well aware and we’ll talk about that later. I’m just trying to impress upon you that it makes the Muggles fearful, and … we can’t afford more fear right now.’_

_‘People fear things because they don’t know any better. Look at my creatures, how many of them are feared simply because they are misunderstood?’_

_‘Newt …’_

_‘I just …’_

_‘Newt! Please. You have to choose the time and place for these sorts of things. I won’t always be able to protect you.’_

He struggled, briefly, to grasp the face … the name of the other speaker, it seemed so important that he remember, and yet it still eluded him. But what was impressed upon his conscious mind was a sense of wanting to listen to that deep, melodious voice; _a sense of wanting to listen to that voice for the remainder of his life._

Why couldn’t he remember who …

Snapping back to the present, Newt glanced at the waiting bank manager and gave the Muggle an awkward smile.

“I … I’m just waiting,” he stumbled, paused and then added. “Sir.” Official type looking Muggles liked formality: right? It seemed so, because except for one more suspicious glance, the man did no more than motion Newt towards a bench and then walked away. 

Grasping his case in both hands, Newt rested it on his lap as he craned his neck and tried to spy where that damn pilfering pest had gotten too.

“…brings you here?”

The voice was masculine, kind in tone if edged with nervousness (why were Muggles always such worriers?) and obviously being directed at Newt. Feeling slightly put out, couldn’t the Muggle tell he was busy; Newt cast a quick glance towards the speaker, offering the man a halfhearted reply. He did make note of the fact that his bench mate was the same gentleman who had bumped into him out on the steps.

And oh dear, the Muggle was trying to make conversation, which Newt supposed was quite friendly of the man but he just did not have the time, and what was this about bakeries?

“Excuse me,” Newt at least managed to toss out the polite interruption to the other man’s pattering, as he unfolded from the bench and darted into the line of Muggles; he had eyes on that silly Niffler and drat it if the bugger hadn’t completely stuffed his pouch and looked to be trying to make yet more room!

“Hey, Mister!” The Muggle’s voice seemed to be pitched in Newt’s direction but he was absolutely preoccupied with his Niffler and didn’t bother to turn around.

In the end, Newt thought it had all gone rather swimmingly. Perhaps a bit of a comedy of errors, that tended to happen around a Niffler, however he had his Niffler back, the items the Niffler had tried to purloin were … well actually they were laying all over the vault floor but if ever an institution would get valuables back to the rightful owners, it was a bank; yes? Most importantly, the Occamy egg had hatched, the baby inside healthy and hale and now safely back within the protection of his case. 

The Muggle had proven a pleasant surprise as well. Newt had Disapparated and Apparated them both, twice and not once had the Muggle thrown up on him. Newt appreciated the lack of vomit. He also found himself curiously intrigued when the Muggle appeared entranced by the Occamy itself, never giving the cracked, silver egg a second glance. There weren’t many Muggles, or even Wizards for that matter, who would pass up the opportunity to get their hands on the precious egg and to damnation with the sweet creature inside.

It made the fact that he had to Obliviate the man all the sadder.

“Now, if you’ll just stand right here, won’t hurt a … ooooff!” 

Right. Had not seen the smack down with the case coming. As Newt bounded back to his feet he watched as the Muggle ran down the alleyway, leather case in hand. The lanky wizard cocked his head to the side, he could easily catch the man, and he wouldn’t even have to apparate; the man wasn’t moving that fast.

“Bugger,” he muttered, half-heartedly before leaning down to pick up his own case. Huh, it was surprisingly similar to the one the Muggle had hit him and then fled with. Curious, but not a thought that stuck with him very long because while he knew that per the letter of the law he should chase the Muggle down and wipe his memory, it didn’t seem that big a deal. What could it hurt, that a gentle Muggle had witnessed a few, innocent transgressions?

Why did he have a sense that the voice he kept hearing in his head wouldn’t agree with that?

Shaking the thought away, he re-oriented himself to his surrounds, making particular note of a slender woman walking towards him with a purposeful step. Unsure who she might be, but getting the sense that she wanted a word with him; Newt ducked his head and tried to affect innocence as he began to walk in the opposite direction. As they passed her hand snapped out, with impressive speed, and Newt felt them apparate under her control.

He did not need this rearranging of his schedule; he had a duty to discharge and a thunderbird to get to Arizona. Why in Merlin’s beard had his Niffler picked now to act up?

Oh bugger indeed.


	3. A little of this and little of that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is told a bit from Tina's point of view as well as Newt's and is hopelessly inspired by a still picture of Newt, Tina and Graves standing at Tina's desk.

Tina Goldstein considered herself a student of the law. She believed in the laws she had sworn, as an Auror, to uphold and she’d been horrified watching the leggy Brit break an untold number; and some of the larger ones at that!

Never mind the fact that she had been in position to witnesses this lawlessness as a result of breaking orders of her own. 

_‘And furthermore, Miss Goldstein, you are to stay away from the Second Salemers.’_

She hadn’t been that close and had only come across Marylou Barebones and her children as a complete accident. Tina had been getting herself a spot of lunch and happened by the woman; utterly innocent.

And besides, this was about Mr. Scamander, not Tina herself!

Though she couldn’t prove it, her investigator instincts told her that the man was lying when he said he was here to buy a birthday present for a friend. Not that it wasn’t a well told bit of fiction, Mr. Scamander sold it with utter sincerity, but Tina couldn’t bring herself to believe that the man hadn’t heard about MACUSA shutting down that breeder. It had been in all the wizarding papers, and at the time one of the biggest stories to rock the wizarding community.

She had meant only to find Mr. Graves certain that her boss (her ex-boss) would have at least heard her out. Though he had been the one to officially demote her, on Seraphina Picquery’s orders, his regret had seemed genuine. Tina fancied herself something of a mentoree to Mr. Graves having found his dedication to wizarding law an inspiration and she hoped that he would at least hear her out about Mr. Scamander’s transgressions.

Only she had crashed in on what was obviously a very tense meeting. A meeting that had included President Picquery among its attendants and before Tina could get a word in edgewise, she and the man beside her, had been summarily dismissed.

Yet again, in disgrace.

Dragging Scamander back down to the tight, dark and cramped quarters where Tina and others toiled at monotonous paperwork, she left him standing on the far side of her desk as she scooped up a clipboard. The sign above her desk read Wand Permits her reassignment position and while she didn’t expect Scamander to produce the necessary paperwork, she asked all the same.

“So you got your wand permit? All foreigners have to have them in New York.” It was a very minor infraction, in fact Tina couldn’t think of a single instance of a wizard or witch being charged with a lack of wand permit, but if she could find something small to hold him on, maybe she could yet get time with Graves.

“I made a postal application weeks ago.” Scamander responded without pause or hesitation. His voice was soft, gentle even, and though his eyes moved everywhere around the room, seeming to take it all in, there was no hesitation in his fibbing. Were Tina not already suspicious of the words coming out of his mouth, she might well have believed him.

“Scamander … and you were just in Equatorial Guinea?”

“I’ve just completed a year in the field. I’m writing a book about magical creatures.”

“Like – an extermination guide?” The words left her mouth as a matter of course, as if there would be no other reason for a wizard to work on such a manuscript. But when Scamander’s easy answers to her rote questions paused on this point, she glanced up.

Since she’d met him, granted under strained circumstances, Scamander had been an odd one for sure. Uninterested in prolonged eye contact, he seemed to look anywhere but at the person speaking with him, as if searching for a ready escape route from the conversation. Now, his gaze was focused on her and Tina’s breath caught in her throat at the laser like quality in his pale blue eyes.

There was no cruelty in him, no anger as she would normally define it, but rather intensity and a sharp authority that made her want to straighten her spine just a little. It reminded her of, well save for the fact that Scamander’s eyes were pale and Graves’ were nearly black … it reminded her of her ex-boss. 

“No.” When he spoke, though his tone never rose, there was steel in the words that came from Scamander’s lips, the complete and utter confidence that came from a place of pure belief in a cause. “A guide to help people understand why we should be protecting these creatures instead of killing them.”

Before Tina could gather her thoughts, and respond to such a curious statement, Abernathy’s shout filled the dingy space and she instinctively ducked down behind her desk. The last thing she needed was a scolding from that officious little toady. Unfortunately, though Scamander’s gift for falsehoods did not give her game away, Abernathy was not so easily put off.

Resigning herself to yet another lecture from the silly little man, Tina nearly exhaled an explosive breath of pure relief when she saw Graves’ stride up. The Director of Magical Security moved with an enviable grace, and while he had shed his overcoat and suit jacket, he still struck an imposing figure in only his waistcoat and shirt sleeves. Authority poured off of him, without his even saying a word and Abernathy quickly snapped to attention, stumbling over his greeting.

“Afternoon, Mr. Graves, sir!”

Also standing at strict attention, Tina was about to leap into the opportunity that fate had provided her but for a brief instance she was caught by the curious change in Scamander’s mien. The man was perfectly still, his head cocked slightly to the side and brows pinched in a pensive manner as he watched Graves. Almost as if Scamander were trying to place the man’s face.

Surely Scamander had seen Graves in the wizarding papers, at least once in the Director’s many appearances. Tina could reel off the dates and events of at least a dozen articles about Percival Graves; not that she’d been following his career with an embarrassing level of hero worship or anything like that. Yet Scamander’s scrutiny seemed to go beyond mere recognition of someone with celebrity like status, at least in New York.

It was as if he were searching for something and becoming agitated at a lack of working it out. But for a moment, it was a curious thing as Scamander stood with his hands behind his back and his eyes firmly on Graves, who had adopted a hands in pocket pose himself. Though Tina was certain the two did not know one another, there was symmetry in the way they positioned themselves, an odd intimacy in the air between them, which made no sense whatsoever.

Then Graves was addressing Abernathy and Tina was distracted from her regard of Scamander by the brief victory that was hearing Graves struggle briefly to recollect Abernathy’s name. Tina worked hard to be above such pettiness but sometimes Abernathy truly deserved it.

“Mr. Graves, sir, this is Mr. Scamander…” she launched into her spiel, setting aside Scamander’s odd behavior to focus on the importance of making her case.

To Newt the sound of Miss Goldstein’s voice was a distant after thought; his entire focus was on the wizard who had just strolled up on them. Though not tall or particularly imposing there was a gravitas about Mr. Graves that went beyond his perfectly tailored appearance. While Graves was committing a near social faux paux in appearing without his suit jacket, it was Newt who was suddenly keenly aware of the rumpled and mismatched nature of his own clothing.

Not that he’d ever cared much for his appearance, preferring to choose clothing that fit well and was practical for his encounters with various creatures, he couldn’t imagine in himself in such a nattily coordinated wardrobe. The clothing was also aided in the fact that its subject wore it quite well, because, though Newt felt little regard for the allure of his own species, he felt his body reacting quite powerfully to Graves’ appearance; almost embarrassingly so.

_‘Settle down, class I would like to introduce you to …’_

“Let’s see the little guy.” 

_‘…he is part of the transfer program with Ilvermorny and will be assisting me this semester…’_

The memory came unbidden and for the life of him Newt couldn’t figure out what had prompted it. He remembered Dumbledore introducing … someone in his Transfiguration class but maddeningly the face and name were gone. 

And Newt had greater concerns at the moment. Tina had set the case on top of her desk as both Abernathy and Graves stepped close and she was reaching for the clasps.

“No, wait … “Newt stumbled over his words as he tried to push in between the other two men and get to the case before Tina threw it open, willie nillie.

But he was too late. She pulled the case open and Newt reached instinctively for his wand, ready to either retrieve his creatures or protect them from the other three wizards in the room. 

Except, there were no creatures. Instead, a neatly sectioned off case of baked goods stared up at them and while they smelled quite delicious, easily a rival to anything produced by a wizard baker, Newt felt his stomach sink into his boots.

“Oh.” He exclaimed softly, glancing up to meet Tina’s suddenly panicked gaze. Part of his felt a little bad that she had just been made a fool of in front of her boss and co-worked and a part of him was quite relieved, but first and foremost he was painfully aware that if they had _these_ pastries, then somewhere out in New York, a Mr. Jacob Kawalski had _his_ creatures.

“Tina.” Graves’ deep, melodious voice could have been called kind, were there not a hint of patronizing in the single word, and before anyone could explain, the Director strode away.

Abernathy had been summarily dismissed as Goldstein had grabbed Newt and with a sense of purpose dragged him back out of MACUSA. Truly, he was starting to feel like Tuffldite on the end of a leash but his own inner distraction made him biddable to Tina’s firm handling.

Graves’ voice … 

Though the man had spoken only a handful of words, Scamander was certain he knew that voice. It wanted to sound like the one he kept having flashes of memory about, but there was something that didn’t quite reconcile between the two sounds. The voice in his memory was stern, exasperated, even raised in passionate argument, but though powerful and full of charisma there was warmth to it, a gentleness that spoke of a protective nature, encouraging and kind. The man Newt had heard in that dingy office, his voice held the same sort of power and stern charisma but there was something slick in his tones, condescending. He’d heard some wizards attempt to use such a voice on a hippogriff, usually in the moment before the hippogriff tried to trample said wizards into the dirt.

It was the voice of arrogance, and deceit; it simply did not reconcile to the emotions that came with those wisps of half memories.

Again, Newt was forced to push his wandering thoughts to the back of his mind as Tina pulled him around the corner and onto a street that exhibited utter destruction. Muggles huddled around one of their official police, giving statements about a gas explosion, while pointing back towards the half collapsed building just behind them. 

Except there was one Muggle … “Officer, I seen it! – it wuzza – a gigantic – a huge hippopotto-“

Oh no. That would never do.

Tina’s attention was focused on the destruction just beyond the knot of people, allowing Newt to discreetly draw his wand. With barely a flick of his fingers, he cast an unspoken spell, listening as the man’s story changed in mid-sentence.

“Gas … it were gas.”

Much better, and while Miss. Goldstein was distracted by the Muggles, Newt took the opportunity to slip away from her. He did so with an ease that suggested he might have slipped her grasp at almost any point in their encounter, it simply had not occurred to him to bother. Now, with his case so close and hints of something woefully amiss, Newt set himself to the task of getting about his business.

Quickly gaining the half destroyed stairs, leaping over the missing steps with a lanky sort of grace, he turned the corner into the room that was obviously the epicenter of all the destruction. Newt’s attention briefly touched the completely obliterated back wall of the domicile before he turned towards the Muggle, who lay groaning in a corner. Hunkering down on his heels, he investigated the bloody bite on the Muggle’s neck, before turning to look at where his case lay open on the bed.

“Bother.” Newt murmured, his attention swinging towards the door when he heard Goldstein’s voice call his name.

Straightening, he turned and –once again without a word- flicked his wand towards the destruction. 

_Laughter, soft but so rich and beloved that it felt like a wrap of velvet … a wrap of strong, masculine arms around his chest, drawing him back against the warmth of a solid chest._

_‘Oh, don’t be impossible.’ Newt heard his own voice, full of exasperation and shades of frustration._

_‘Impossible, I? ‘There were the layers of masculine humor and yet support and unconditional adoration. ‘The fact that you can execute a reparo charm without a word, while leaping through a window in pursuit of a cockatrice, tells quite the story, don’t you think?’_

_‘I really couldn’t say; especially as I’m not speaking to you if you keep laughing like that.’_

_The laughter hadn’t abated, but as warm lips touch his neck and the arms embracing him tightened, Newt felt his resolve to be annoyed waning._

“It was open?!” Tina’s words cut through the memory and Newt’s head snapped up, even as his fingers calmly closed the latches on his case.

“Just a smidge,” he fibbed without thought, unconcerned when it was obvious that Tina wasn’t buying it.

Most people, as they got to know him, learned to see through his slight offset of truths, particularly when it came to his creatures. At least, the intelligent people and while she was proving something of a thorn in his side, he had to admit that Miss Goldstein was quite intelligent, as well as thoughtful. She had hurried, with genuine concern, to the Muggle’s side, and was exclaiming over his injuries.

“He’s bleeding!”

“He’ll be fine, I’m sure.” A pause. “Mostly sure.”

Tina had turned to glare at him but whatever she intended to say was lost when movement caught her attention and she exclaimed sharply.

Newt spun and with surprising speed and deftness, he caught up the back legs of the scampering Murtlap, holding it safely out and away from his body so as to avoid receiving a bite of his own.

“Right, back into the case with you!” He exclaimed, sounding like an amused parent attempting to be stern with a naughty child. 

Only when the Murtlap was secured, did Newt become aware of the incredulous look Tina was affording him. Uncertain what he’d done to deserve such an exasperated glare, he defaulted to the most recent cause of her annoyance and quickly bound to his feet, arm extended and wand at the ready.

The Muggle, who by now was more alert and aware of his surroundings, exclaimed and recoiled, while simultaneously Tina dove between Newt’s line of casting and the man behind her.

“Wait! You can’t Obliviate him! We need him as a witness.”

Now it was Newt’s turn to wear the incredulous expression, though his was also dosed with a healthy splash of frustrated confusion. Why were people, be they Muggles or Wizards, so utterly confounding?!  
“I’m sorry—you’ve just yelled at me the length of New York for not doing it in the first place!”

_‘Shhhhhh, Newt. Easy on.’_

“He’s hurt! He looks ill!”

“He’ll be fine. Murtlap bites aren’t serious.” Why was she making this such a production? And oh wonderful, not the Muggle was throwing up in the corner. “I admit that is a slightly more severe reaction than I’ve seen, but if it was really serious – he’d have …”

_‘Beloved, sometimes you really must remember that despite your best efforts …’_

Tina’s brows furrowed, her dark eyes definitely suspicious as she caught Newt’s pause and prompted him. “What?”

_‘… you do belong to the human race.’_

“Well, the first symptom would be flames out of his anus …”

Oh bother. That bit of news didn’t seem to go over well. The Muggle looked even more green and was grabbing at the seat of his pants, while Tina was managing to read a level of surprisingly familiar exasperation. 

“This is balled up!”

“It’ll last forty-eight hours at most!” Newt found himself responding to Goldstein’s annoyance with a quick word and explanations. Something he almost never bothered with, except for a few very particular people. Dumbledore and … that damn name which kept eluding him. “I can keep him if you want me to…”

“Oh, keep him?” Right. Now Goldstein’s expression and voice was even more familiar. Bother and bugger. “We don’t keep them! Mr. Scamander, do you know anything about the wizarding community in America?”

Ah, excellent! This he could answer.

“I do know a few things, actually. I know you have rather backwards laws about relations with non-magic people. That you’re not meant to befriend them, that you can’t marry them, which seems mildly absurd to me…”

_‘How can we ask them not to fear us when we won’t even allow them to learn about us?’_

_‘Newt, until wizarding kind went underground, we were hunted and persecuted for our powers. There were attempts to educate them, as you suggest and those efforts resulted in wizards being burned at the stake.’_

_‘I know.’_

_‘No. You don’t know. England has not had to deal with such atrocities in recent memory. Salem is still very much at the forefront of the American wizarding community’s mind.’_

_‘But we can’t let the past dictate the future. If you do then the fear and the misunderstanding and the hatred will just entrench deeper. I say ‘magical creatures’ and majority of our kind immediately think exterminate because we’ve allowed ourselves to grow so far apart from them that we no longer see them as having value. The same kind of disconnect will happen between Wizards and Muggles; it’s already happening, it’s why a man like Grindelwald can command such a powerful following.’_

_‘I don’t disagree with you, Newt. I’m just saying that right now, in America … the wizarding community is not ready.’_

_‘Then America remains fertile ground for Grindelwald and those who follow him. By trying, so desperately, to remain hidden, America is the wizarding community’s greatest weakness.’_

_‘I know.’_

“Who’s going to marry him? You’re both coming with me…”

“I don’t see why I need to come with you…” Newt began to argue, only to watch as Tina struggled to help the Muggle to his wavering feet. Well, alright then, perhaps he did owe her some cooperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the dialogue is lifted directly from the screen play, particularly the last bit. I really loved that scene and wanted to highlight it as being a point that Newt and Graves have probably, lovingly argued about quite often.


	4. A bit of Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two updates for the price of one. I couldn't hold out on writing Graves any further, along with bonus Dumbledore!

Somewhere in New York, in room known only to Grindelwald, Percival Graves lay upon a dingy cot, locked in a desperate battle within his own mind. His physical captivity -iron shackles and a nearly unbreakable Petrificus curse- was nothing compared to the horror Grindelwald had set loose within Percival’s mind.

Dark creatures, made of wisps darkness and despair, hooded with only skeletal hands providing them with any sense of form, pursued Percival relentlessly within his psyche. A lesser man, a lesser wizard would have succumbed to their soul sucking destruction long ago –Percival no longer had any sense of time- but Percival Graves was no ordinary wizard. 

While he had not been strong enough to defeat Grindelwald, when the Dark Lord attacked him, he was still capable of defending his own mind from the foul creatures Grindelwald had set upon him as his guards. Building maze, after maze of mirrors and deceits, Graves retreated further and further within the locked recesses of his memories, gathering the most precious ones in close to guard them against his jailers.

Though he had been forced to sacrifice bits and pieces, as a way to redirect both Grindelwald and the dark figures, Graves had managed to hold on to his deepest secrets and his most cherished emotions.

_He had just returned from the successful capture of a group of Grindelwald supports, who had been plotting an attack on a busy No-Maj department store, seeking to spark fear, trepidation and disruption as the No-Maj’s headed into their busy holiday season. Feeling quite pleased with himself, Percival had hung up his coat and just started to shed his jacket when a light knock sounded at his door._

_“Come!” He called out, turning to watch a bubble of words come floating through the door. Lifting his wand, he tapped it lightly to the bubble, which sprang apart with a soft ‘pop’ releasing the voice of one of their secretaries down at the front desk._

_‘Mr. Graves, sorry to disturb you but a Professor Albus Dumbledore is here and hopes that you might see him.’_

_Graves had stood perfectly still, a feeling of ice slithering down his spine at the gravity of such a visit. He could think of no reason Dumbledore would travel such a distance, personally, if it didn’t involve Newt. Flicking his wrist, Graves send an immediate response hurtling down ahead of him, even as he re-fastened his suit coat and apparated out of his office._

_Percival Graves always moved through MACUSA with an air of purpose. Though he had no deliberate desire to be intimidating, he also had little time for distractions and as such projected an air that suggested people approach only if necessary. He almost never apparated within the building, having no need to and so, when he wisped out of thin air at the front desk, he startled more than a few of MACUSA’s secretaries._

_The one person, who turned nary a hair, was the tall man standing with his hands behind his back, looking up at the clock with reflected a worrisome threat level at the moment._

_“Professor Dumbledore,” Graves intoned politely, for while they did not appear to be much different in age, Percival was always aware of the years and the wisdom Albus had on him. He had learned, at this man’s hand, for almost a year and while Dumbledore usually insisted that Graves address him as ‘Albus’, Percival could only ever bring himself to do so in private._

_Dumbledore turned a warm and welcoming smile on his handsome features. His twinkling eyes immediately became concerned as he effortless picked up the tension that Graves attempted to hide from his co-workers. Relaxing, Dumbledore smiled and stepped forward, reaching to take Graves’ suddenly cold hand in between both of his own._

_“Director Graves, thank you for being so willing to speak with me so promptly,” he said, gripping the Auror’s hand firmly and looking him straight in the eyes._

_In that instant, between the look and the touch, Percival received the unspoken message. Dumbledore wasn’t here with dire news about Newt._

_Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding Graves gave Dumbledore a small nod to show his acknowledgement of what went unspoken, and a moment later, Dumbledore released his hand._

_“It’s not every day I receive a visitor from across the Atlantic. Please, Professor.” He said, motioning towards the elevators and purposefully ignoring the now curious glances being cast his way. He didn’t doubt that the cafeteria would be all a titter with gossip over his unconventional apparting arrival, but he was also well aware that a stern glare would do little more than fan the flames. Best to continue as if nothing was amiss._

_“I suspect not,” Dumbledore rambled in an affable tone, seemingly unconcerned about who might be listening. “But I’ve been charged with helping expand the curriculum at Hogwarts in regards to the history of other wizarding governments, and your name came up as a starting point within MACUSA.”_

_“Did it?”_

_“Yes. Though I was warned that you might make the subject matter a bit dry and officious,” Dumbledore teased gently as they stepped into the elevator, his words helping to diffuse some of the confusion they were leaving in their wake._

_Graves picked up the unspoken lead and played his part of the put upon stuffy shirt as they bantered back and forth in front of whoever crossed their path as they traveled to Graves’ office. The act easily held until Graves closed his door, and with a few soft words, warded the room shut and sealed._

_“I believe you stopped my heart there for a moment, Albus.” He breathed out, leaning a hand against the door for support, before he turned and tucked his wand away._

_“I am so sorry, my dear boy. I certainly did not mean to frighten you, and I honestly hadn’t considered the conclusion you would jump to upon my unannounced arrival.” Albus paused and looked at Graves with a sympathetic expression. “He hasn’t been in regular contact?”_

_Motioning for Albus to take a seat on the couch that set along one wall, Graves waiting for the professor to take a seat before settling on the cushion at the other end._

_“I was getting regular letters through the floo, up until about three weeks ago.”_

_“Ah.” Dumbledore breathed out, shaking his head. “He would have reached Sudan about that time.”_

_“Yes, that’s what his last communication indicated.”_

_“You know he …”_

_“I know.” Graves said, lifting a hand and exhaling a long breath. “He gets caught up in tracking down this dangerous creature or that fascinating monster and completely forgets where he is and how long he’s been there.” There was definite affection in the Director’s tone but in the next moment, the concern crept in. “But this …”_

_“This is an Obscurial he’s seeking.” Dumbledore finished the thought in a kind tone, ducking his head slightly in order to capture Graves’ down turned eyes. “But if there is any wizard I would trust as capable of safely confronting such a force, it’s Newton. Percival, I promise that I have sensed no ill mischief befalling him. He’s as safe as … either of you, ever are.”_

_The last bit was a small nudge at the dangers of Graves’ own work, risks that he accepted as merely part of his job, the same as Newt accepted the perils of his own career. Though at times Graves wished he could keep his adventuring spouse safe at home, he knew such thoughts were selfish and unworthy. Neither of them had shied away from the vulnerability that had come with their love for one another, and while they lived a quite unordinary partnership, as often parted as together their affection had not waned over the years._

_If anything, it had grown as they had each learned to accept the passion of the other for his job; Graves with MACUSA and Newt with his creatures. It would have been so easy for one to have asked a great sacrifice from the other, to give it all up, but despite the fear that came with vulnerability, neither had ever sought to lessen the man he married._

_However, it never stopped Graves from worrying about what new scar his husband would return with this time._

_“I know,” he said, his lips twitching upwards in an affectionate, if ruefully accepting, expression. “But what has brought you here? I know it’s nothing to do with American Wizarding government.”_

_Here, Dumbledore’s smile had faded and the twinkle had even dimmed within his eyes. In a breath, the professor’s age and a soul deep pain soaked onto his face as he spoke just one word._

_“Grindelwald.”_

And within that meeting, Albus had laid out a painfully desperate, but desperately needed plan for slowing the advance of the most dangerous wizard on the planet. As Graves had listened to his old mentor’s intricately woven trap, he had been filled with a sense of dread, of purpose, of despair and of hope.

_“Are you absolutely out of your mind?!” Graves had exclaimed, leaping up from the couch and looking at Dumbledore, wondering if the man wasn’t an impostor._

_“I’m very much afraid I am not, Percival. If there were any other way…”_

_“There had better be another way because my answer is no, unequivocally and absolutely not.”_

_“Those words all mean the same thing.”_

_“Don’t you ‘professor’ at me.”_

_Dumbledore raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but then he’d set them back down, the brief humor gone from his eyes._

_“Percival, there is no other option. Our best Auror’s have gone up against him and been slaughtered. His cause has gained untold momentum, he is creating a stronghold within the Deathly Hallows and if we can’t even slow his progress, the war that will come will devastate us all.”_

_Graves shook his head, trying to refute every bit of what Dumbledore was saying, even as the words sank deep into his own painfully clear understanding of the stakes._

_“There must be another way.”_

_Dumbledore rose gracefully from the couch and walked over to stand in front of the Auror._

_“If you see one, tell me and this ends now.”_

_Graves looked up, his expression sharp with a sense of betrayal, he knew he was being played. Because he knew, that Dumbledore was perfectly aware that there were no other options left. For as brilliant, gifted and any other adjective people ascribed to his name when it came to his job, Graves knew Dumbledore was that many more steps ahead of him._

_Ahead of them all, particularly on the subject of Grindelwald._

_“How can you ask this of us,” he said softly._

_“I ask it of you, because I know of no other wizards who could pull this off.”_

_“It’s not his job, Albus. He’s not trained for this.”_

_“You underestimate him, Percival.”_

_“No. Don’t you dare tell me what I know of my husband. He is the most capable man I know.” Graves’ response was immediate and unflinching._

_“My apologies. You want to protect him.”_

“Yes.”

_“If we don’t stop or at least slow Grindelwald, there will be no protecting any of us.”_

_“But Newt…”_

_“Will be in his blind spot. Because Grindelwald will underestimate him, especially if he’s focused on you.”_

A scratchy cry sent Graves darting from one fold of his psyche into another, leaving the memory of his conversation with Dumbledore safely tucked beneath layers of minute of magical law. The creature in pursuit could chew on the painstaking detail of the intricacies property transfer law; talk about soul sucking.


	5. I am bad at naming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I realized, as I was writing through this, that I am skipping over some scenes as I focus on the ones that I'd outlined specifically for this story. But there might be some scenes, either from the movie itself or just in what I've written here, that people might want to see a coda from. 
> 
> So I thought I'd open it up for comment codas!
> 
> If there is a scene you'd like to me to expand on, either from the movie or the verse this story is set in, let me know in the comments! For now I'd like to keep it to material I've already covered but this offer will remain in place as I post future chapters.
> 
> Also I'm sure I'm playing a little fast and loose with my interpretation of what Polyjuice Potion is capable of doing, but it helps smoothing things along and up the angst factor.

“Mr. Scamander?”

“Call me Newt.”

“Newt … I don’t think I’m dreaming.”

The words, spoken in a tone of calm wonder, rather than panic, drew Newt’s attention away from the Occamy babies and he glanced over at Jacob. The Muggle had proven a delightful surprise, remarkably unflappable when faced –no faced was an understatement- when _submerged_ in magic. Not only had Jacob taken his rough introduction to the wizarding world with a sense of humility and kindness that left Newt intrigued, he’d managed to charm quite a beautiful witch!

Watching Tina’s sister, Queenie, and Jacob flirt gently over the dinner table had been mostly awkward but also awkwardly charming. There had been no offense to Jacob as Queenie blithely read his mind, and for his part, aside from what thoughts had probably gone through his mind when they’d first been introduced, the Muggle was nothing less than a gentleman. His delight in Queenie stemmed from the shared love of cooking, an obvious affection for family and a similar outlook to life.

Both Queenie and Jacob were kind people. Newt could see that, which wasn’t to say that Tina hadn’t been kind, she certainly had the right to be incredibly annoyed and vexed with him and his behavior, yet she had taken him in and treated him with hospitality. But there was a genuine sort of _joy_ and easy simplicity to Queenie and Jacob; a sense of warmth and unconditional delight in the world around them, no matter the challenges they faced.

They were, what Newt would call, good people and it didn’t matter that one was a witch and the other a Muggle, or at least it _shouldn’t_ matter.

Now, here in the depths of his case, Newt watched as Jacob approached his creatures with a growing sense of awe and gentleness. So much of the wizarding world would have destroyed any one of these magnificent creatures on sight, yet here was a Muggle, interacting with them (and they with the Muggle) as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Why couldn’t their worlds be like this? Delighting in their differences, instead of fearing them. 

_’Are you saying you agree with Grindelwald?’ The warm voice was genuinely shocked and Newt’s heart sank with the weight of having disappointed this person who meant the world to him._

_’No! That’s not what I’m …’_

_’It rather sounded like you were saying…’_

_’Please stop. Don’t misunderstand my words. Don’t do that, you never misunderstand my words.’_

_The silence had stretched between them for a moment that ached so fiercely within Newt’s chest, yet he wouldn’t back down. Even as his eyes were looking everywhere but to the figure that belonged to the voice._

_There was a soft swish of fabric and strong fingers pressed beneath his chin, the thumb stroking the line of his jaw in a tender caress as the touch lifted his head up and around until his eyes met …_

_Damn it._ Again, the wisps of memory slipped his grasp but this time, there was the memory of dark, intelligent eyes. Briefly, he was reminded of Tina’s eyes but the voice in his head was unequivocally masculine, and though there had been a girl in Hogwarts who had become a close friend, Newt felt no stirring of carnal desire when he thought of Tina. 

Whereas that _voice …_ stirred a response so powerful that Newt wondered if he shouldn’t be a little concerned with himself. 

Shaking his head, he placed his focus back on Jacob and smiled. Laws or now laws, the Muggle was a good man, and Newt was enjoying the opportunity to introduce his creatures to Jacob. 

Actually, would you …” he began to speak, pointing Jacob towards the container of food. 

Things continued apace from there, baring the near disaster as Jacob got too close to the Obscurus, which was Newt’s fault, rather than Jacob’s. The lanky wizard knew he was breaking an almost insurmountable number of wizarding laws in allowing the Obscurus to exist, let alone traipsing it from continent to continent in his case. But until he could get it back to Dumbledore, he knew of no safer place to keep it. 

When he’d met his old mentor, where he’d picked up Frank, he’d told Dumbledore about the Obscurus. Dumbledore had looked genuinely taken aback, which was only understandable as it had been so long since the wizarding community had been forced to deal with an Obscurial. However, it had been an odd thing, to see the shock and then those wickedly clever eyes lost in thought, just before Dumbledore had insisted that Frank came first. He and Newt would discuss the Obscurus when New returned from the United States. 

Newt felt a small pinch of guilt when he played upon Jacob’s new found delight in their world in order to manipulate the man into assisting him in finding the Erumpent. Not that he didn’t believe that, once Jacob proved healthy Tina would hesitate to Obliviate his memories, but he probably hadn’t needed to be quite so harsh in describing the procedure. 

But he had learned, over the years, that these small manipulations of the truth; these turn of phrase and obfuscation, helped him navigate tricky waters. He wasn’t joking when he told Jacob that people found him annoying, they always had and after years of growing up in the shadow of a brilliant big brother, Newt had learned how to find his own way. Sometimes that way called for a bit of _slight of hand_ , laid over top magic. 

_It had been late at night, ridiculously late at night actually technically speaking it was the next morning and Newt was crawling as stealthily as he could manage in between warm blankets. His own body was ice cold, a result of having been out in the snow most of the night chasing down his wayward Niffler. The damndable creature had made a concentrated effort to purloin every single bauble and ball off the neighborhood Christmas trees._

_Curled up on his side, facing the far wall, Newt tried to lay still so as not to disturb the other occupant of the bed, but it was a fruitless endeavor. Strong and _oh bless, warm_ arms reached and gathered him away from the edge of the bed. He was settled comfortably against a long, lean body, heavy thighs and strong calves tangling with him own as a steady hand guided his head to a broad shoulder._

_‘You’re going to catch a cold,’ the voice rumbled, thick with sleep but laced with affection. A kiss was laid to the top of his cool curls and Newt gave up trying to hold himself away, wrapping his one arm around the other’s flat abdomen and drawing closer to the offered warmth._

_‘He’s an incorrigible creature.’_

_‘So are you,’ now he could feel the warm rumble of that deep voice, vibrating beneath his cheek. ‘It’s why you two get along so famously; forever racing around pilfering whatever shiny catches your eye and damn the legality of it. Utterly and absolutely: incorrigible.’_

_‘Excuse me, but did you just compare me to a Niffler?’_

_‘I believe I did.’ Now the rumble was laced with very obvious amusement._

_‘Right.’_

_The memory of rearing up and flinging himself across the source of that dry humor, straddling a body so like his own and reaching for a pillow to deliver a thorough pummeling. Laughter and cursing had filled the room, gradually giving way to softer sounds and low, throaty moans._

This voice … Newt had a sense that while the owner had often found him distressing, he’d never been an annoyance. The stabbing ache of longing returned in the breaths before he was distracted by that very same Niffler. 

Because honestly … a jewelry stand? Did the silly bugger actually think that bit of obfuscation was going to work? Never mind the number of questionable fibs Newt had tried upon various individuals … with just about as much success. 

Soon enough the chase was on and once again Jacob proved his worth as the Muggle kept watch, in a manner of speaking, as Newt and the Niffler absolutely obliterated the upscale jewelry store. As if this was an everyday occurrence in his life, Jacob had maintained a steady look out along the street, and his steady, unflappable nature allowed him to approach the case and reset the latch. 

Jacob had gone on to prove himself not only kind, steady and remarkably open minded but quite brave and resourceful when things had gone slightly cattywonky with the Erumpent. Alright, things had gone nearly disastrously wrong with the Erumpent, but Jacob had comported himself quite well in providing a proper distraction, allowing Newt to get the creature back into his case. Granted, Jacob had rather gotten himself into the predicament in the first place, or perhaps Newt might have been a little more careful with that vial … 

_Regardless_. 

The Erumpent was safe, the Niffler was contained and by Newt’s count that left only Dougal to catch up with, so job well done. But it was a brief victory indeed. 

A knock on the top of his case never boded well. Usually when he was tucked up in his case people left it well enough alone, respecting it as private property. Those who understood what was housed within were few indeed and as likely to simply let themselves in, as to knock and wait for him to come back out. Newt did not have a good feeling about matters when he heard that rapping. 

This sense of impending doom proved to be a rather prophetic feeling indeed, as he opened the lid and instead of the underside of a stone bridge, found himself emerging into the middle of a room full of disapproving individuals. Stepping out of his case, he moved to the side in order to allow Jacob to emerge, waiting for the Muggle to step free of the case, before leaning down to secure it once more. 

“Scamander?” The heavy voice was equal parts incredulous and exasperated, it was a voice he recognized and Newt turned towards the British representative. 

"Hello, Minster.” He raised his hand in a small wave, already trying to get a sense of just how much trouble he was in here. 

“Theseus Scamander? The war hero?” 

“No. This is his little brother.” 

Ah yes. There was the condescending tone he was used to hearing, particularly when his brother’s name came into the mix. Newt swallowed an inward sigh and his cover story fell easily from his lips when the Minster asked what he was doing in New York. The Minster was having none of it, but before he could challenge Newt further on his story, President Picquery was asking about Jacob. 

“This is Jacob Kowalski, Madam President, he’s a No-Maj who got bitten by one of Mr. Scamander’s creatures…” 

At the word ‘No-Maj’ the entire room broke out in startled exclamations and quick condemnations. Newt was on the cusp of taking up the argument for his friend, which his attention was caught by the image of a figure, floating within the center of the room. 

It was a man, obviously dead and as Newt approached, he realized that the unfortunate individual had died a violent death indeed. Coming close enough to see the face, the lifeless eyes, Newt felt cold fingers ghost down his spine as he traced the intricate scars laid out across the otherwise handsome features. 

His breath came short as anxiety kicked in and he lifted his hand to his mouth. At that moment, his movements had caught the attention of one of the Ministers and she quickly spoke up. 

“You know which of your creatures was responsible, Mr. Scamander?” 

“What?” He whispered, eyes locked on the dead man a moment longer as his brain processed the fact that one of his creatures was being blamed for this death. Glancing over to the speaker, his eyes skittered across her features, before he cast around, looking at the room as a whole but without seeing anyone but the body in front of him. 

“No creature did this…Don’t even try to pretend!” He would not allow them to hang this atrocity on one of his creatures. “You must know what that was, look at the marks …” 

Again, he glanced around the room, slightly dumbfounded as he realized that no one else seemed to understand what they were looking at. How could they not? Had they never read their history books? Newt looked back towards the body, lowering his hand as he explained. 

“This was an Obscurus.” 

Oh but was that the wrong thing to say. The room positively exploded at that point with exclamations that it wasn’t possible, and a very genuine sense of fear from the few individuals who realized it might be. Out of the corner of his eye, Newt noted that one man … the man Tina had addressed as Mr. Graves, was rather singular in his response. Rather than appearing to dismiss the notion or show fear, Mr. Graves’ dark eyes were sharply focused on both Newt and the body; his expression one of interest. 

Before Newt had time to process this information, President Picquery was speaking, her clear voice rising above the mutterings around her and re-establishing order. 

“You go too far, Mr. Scamander. There is no Obscurial in America. Impound that case, Graves!” 

Before he could react, Graves had gestured and summoned the case to his side. Panic bloomed in Newt’s chest as he turned towards the man. 

“No! Give that …” He began to shout, reaching instinctively for his wand. 

One of the lesser remembered facts about Newton Scamander of Hufflepuff House were the records he held for dueling. Not only did he possess an incredible quick, deft hand for drawing his wand, he was one of the best instinctive casters in the school. It was a natural skill that had been further honed over the years when he’d been forced to react quickly in response to the unexpected movements of a creature. 

After all, one couldn’t predict what sort of defensive measures the various magical animals in his case might employ, and Newt always had to be ready to execute a counter measure that best ensured both his own and the creature’s survival. He was wickedly quick, even when facing the most powerful Auror in America. 

“Arrest them!”  


Graves moved as if he _anticipated_ Scamander’s actions. Rather than trying to draw his own wand, he swept Scamander up and off his feet, giving him a shake like a rag doll as if to shake the other’s wand loose. Summoning it deftly to his left hand, Graves let the other Auror’s in the room deal with Goldstein and Kowalski, his focus remained on Newt as he drove the Magizoologist to his knees, restraining his hands behind him. 

Scamander was now utterly panicked. Begging first Graves and then the President not to hurt his creatures. Graves watched passively as his Aurors stepped in and began to drag the three from the room, ignoring Scamander’s desperate pleas.  


Behind the dark eyes and handsome countenance he’d stolen, Gellert Grindelwald watched the leggy wizard as he was dragged from the room. What a curious thing was Newt Scamander and Grindelwald wondered at his reaction to the man, or rather the instinctive reaction tied to the essence of the man he was currently impersonating. 

Polyjuice potion was a tricky thing, after all, particularly when you used it for an extended period of time; weeks instead of hours. Along with key memories drawn from the host’s mind, occasionally strong, subconscious ticks and habits leeched in as well. Not that Grindelwald had a doubt that he could have handled Scamander, even if the man had gotten his wand drawn and a spell off. 

Setting aside his own powers, Percival Graves was a considerable force to be reckoned with, in and of himself. Grindelwald would rather take the man to his side, than have to battle against him but unfortunately Graves hadn’t seen it the same way. 

Pity. 

But to the point; why had he instinctively reacted so readily to Scamander? Perhaps Graves and Scamander had a run in, previously? Grindelwald had no doubt that the objects in the case he held were all highly illegal, so it was possible there was some prior knowledge about the man. 

Suddenly very curious, Grindelwald turned towards President Picquery and put on his most charming, cajoling tone. 

“I apologize, for allowing this situation to progress to this point, Madam President,” oh but how these words made his teeth ache. 

“You’ve been distracted, Mr. Graves, though it is unfortunate that a connection between what has been happening in this city and Mr. Scamander could not have been made before a No-Maj died; in such public circumstances.” 

“Indeed.” Graves’ deep voice was rather useful for smoothing over what would otherwise been toned as insincerity. “I’ll see to the interrogation of Mr. Scamander, myself.” 

“Yes.” President Picquery agreed, already turning and fixing a firm stare on the British Envoy, with whom she obviously intended to have a serious talk. 

Uninterested in that conversation, Grindelwald made his way through the chamber and towards the doors. While he waited for his subordinates to pull all they could on Scamander, he’d just have a quick look through the contents of the case, see if there might be anything useful in the Magizoologist’s menagerie. 


	6. Might have left a bit out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small break from the action, in which we learn a bit more about the plan and that Dumbledore may not have told Graves the entire truth.
> 
> Whoops?

It was late at night and a cold evening as well, but neither the dark nor the cold seemed to bother the man sitting atop one of the stately ramparts overlooking Hogwarts. Whether Albus Dumbledore truly did not mind the cold or whether he’d bothered with a charm to immune himself to the night air was hard to say. The man certainly did not look bothered as he smoked pensively on his pipe.

“If I catch my death out here, I promise to haunt you until the day you pass, Albus.” The words came from a small, yet stately woman who was delicately picking her way towards the rampart. Pervina Plettadof stopped a good three feet from where Dumbledore sat, refusing to get any closer to the edge.

Without looking back, Dumbledore smiled around his pipe, though he was polite enough to lower it from his lips before speaking.

“I would expect nothing less,” he intoned, staring out across the velvety blackness surrounding the school one last time, before he turned and moved away from the edge. “Walk with me?”

“Of course. I’m not here for my health.” Pervina replied, turning to fall into step with her old friend as they began to walk the line of the rampart.

She and Albus had been year mates and fast friends from the start. There were plenty of whispers expecting them to make a proper match of it, though Pervina was possibly one of the only people who understood why that would never be possible. Perhaps she felt a wistful twinge in her heart at the fact, but it didn’t stop her from being coy when the subject came up, but only in so far as to help Dumbledore keep well-wishers from meddling too deep into affairs that didn’t concern them.

One of the top Aurors in the Ministry, she had turned down numerous attempts to promote her to a position not unlike Percival Graves held in MACUSA. She had no interest in office politics, preferring field work. It had been Pervina who had come to Dumbledore, just after the French Ministry of Magic had lost three top Aurors to followers of Grindelwald.

As they walked, Dumbledore settled his pipe in between his teeth and reached for his wand. Without a word, he cast immemorabilis, ensuring that their conversation would be for their ears only. Also, were there a wizard close enough and powerful enough to puncture the bubble, he or she would be incapable of remembering the subject. Wand tucked away, he took the pipe into his hand, glancing down at the ash in the bowl.

“Newton is in New York. Has been for close to twenty-four hours now and is in the hands of MACUSA,” he reported, glancing at Pervina and giving her a tight sort of smile.

The woman took in a deep breath, pausing in her steps as she exhaled it slowly, her stare long and far away.

“Dare we hope?”

“Is there anything to do, but hope?”

“There is still so much that could go wrong with this, Albus,” she said softly, stepping around to face him directly, her white brows drawn together. “How you managed to talk Percival Graves into this madness, I will never know.”

Dumbledore’s lips flattened in a tight sort of smile, one that could not conceal the depth of his concern.

“Graves has always been aware of the stakes. He’s very good at his job; nearly as good as you, my dear.” Dumbledore pointed the curved neck of his pipe in her direction.

“And Scamander? The boy is not an Auror.”

“Neither is he a boy, Pervina.” Dumbledore gently scolded. “He is a very capable man, who faces situations like this, perhaps more often than any Auror out there.”

“A Magizoologist, against the most powerful dark wizard our community has ever known?” Pervina didn’t bother to keep her skepticism out of her voice.

“And that is why he will succeed, where your Aurors have failed.” Dumbledore intoned.

Pervina shook her head.

“So you’ve said. But I still wonder at your logic, Albus. Why send him into this with part of his memories wiped?”

“I told you.”

“Tell me again.” She said firmly, arms now crossed in front of her and though she was forced to look up into his face, there was little doubt that she was looking down her nose.

Dumbledore sighed softly, ultimately giving ground in the face of her steely stare and walking over to the edge of the rampart, where he knew good and well she wouldn’t follow. At least, not too closely.

“No Auror has been able to get close to Grindelwald, he is too savvy to their tactics, and I am sorry, my dear but you all are a fairly predictable lot.”

Pervina snorted but didn’t try to contradict him.

“Newton is surprisingly good at covering inconvenient truths, when he wants to be, but he is not infallible; particularly where his emotions are concerned. Facing Grindelwald, wearing Percival Graves’ face … there is no way he could have played ignorant.”

“Graves and Scamander … if nothing else in all this amazes me, it was learning about that.” Pervina shook her head, as if the idea still bemused her. “How long …”

Dumbledore chuckled, his tone fond as he glanced over his shoulder towards her. “It started here, at the school, though they quietly made matters official about eight years ago.”

“You would never know it to look at them.”

“Wouldn’t you? Then you’re not paying close enough attention.” Dumbledore tapped the cool bowl of his pipe against his hand, shaking the ash loose. “However, we’re not here to gossip. We discussed the risks involved with leaving Newton’s memories intact versus the risks of temporarily blocking them. Though it sounds as if we leave everything to happenstance by blocking his memories, I promise you, my dear there were contingency plans in place.”

“Contingency plans? I don’t remember you mentioning these?”

“Didn’t I?” Dumbledore said with an air of perfect innocence. Pervina wasn’t fooled in the least, and cocked her head expectantly. “Well, it involves a Niffler.”

“I’m sorry, did you say a Niffler?”

“Do you want me to continue or not?”

“Actually, I think I’d rather you don’t. I’m already plagued by nightmares of this entire scenario.”

His pipe cleared, Dumbledore tucked it into a pocket of his robes and walked back over to his friend. His expression was serious as he reached to take both her shoulders.

“I know you have doubts, Pervina but everything has gone to plan. We must allow it to continue to play out.”

“You are taking one hell of a risk with Scamander’s life; you’ve already taken one hell of a risk with Graves. How did you two know that Grindelwald wouldn’t just … wouldn’t just kill him?”

“We didn’t.” Dumbledore answered unflinchingly. “It was quite a bit of faith, on Percival’s part, to believe me when I trusted that Grindelwald would go for a Polyjuice potion. I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to repay him for that faith, but you can believe I will do so for as long as I live.”

“At least Graves is an Auror. He is trained and has taken oaths about placing himself in harm’s way. Scamander…”

“May not have oaths, but he does the same thing for his creatures. Pervina, I know you see only Theseus Scamander’s awkward and annoying little brother, and a man who is forever bending any number of laws you’d rather not enforce. But I promise you … “he began, pausing at her dubious expression and breathing out, stalling for a moment before he changed tactics. “Newton is a Hufflepuff, through and through. He may not be as flashy as his elder brother or his husband, but he is tireless and when faced with the impossible, he sees only the need to overcome.”

Pervina took a deep breath, as if to refute Dumbledore’s statement, but in the end she let it out with an explosive exhale and shook her head.

“I hope you’re right about this, Albus. Graves, I can accept that he stepped up with his eyes open to the risks of what you proposed. But you have sent a civilian into the hands of a wizard who has killed some of the most highly trained of us, and his body count, wizard and Muggle alike, is in the hundreds.”

“I know.” Albus replied and for a split second he glanced to the side. It was quick thing, there and gone in a matter of seconds; the sort of look that would escape most, but Pervina spotted it immediately.

“Albus?”

Dropping his hands from her shoulders, Dumbledore looked up at the night sky and for a long moment, the silence drew out between them. Pervina waited it out. She’d seen this numerous times over the years, moments when Albus was weighing his options and looking for the best outcome of an impossible situation.

“Gellert never makes a move that is singular in nature,” he began to speak softly. “There are always, layers to his intentions. Fleeing Europe and the wizarding community here was but one reason he headed for the United States, but it wasn’t the only reason.”

Slowly, his eyes came back to her face, his expression oddly apologetic. 

“He could have run anywhere. Did you ever ask yourself, why the United States and why New York?”

“Why?” she breathed softly.

“There’s an Obscurial in New York.”

“No.” Pervina breathed the word as if somehow saying it could make it true. “There hasn’t been an Obscurial in decades!”

“Two.” Dumbledore said softly, lifting his fingers. “Well, one now. There was a girl in Sudan.”

“Wait, Scamander was just in the Sudan.”

“Yes.”

Pervina stood stock still as that single word sank in.

“An Obscurial,” she shook her head. “If there was an Obscurial in New York, Graves would have never …”

“Percival didn’t know.”

_”WHAT?!”_

“And Newton doesn’t either, or at least he didn’t. He has probably made the connection by now.”

The air hung heavy between them for a long breath, before Pervina found her voice again.

“You set this plan in motion, knowing there was an Obscurial in New York and you didn’t tell Graves?”

“As you said if he knew…”

“Albus,” his name came out in a pained breath. “How could you…”

“There was no other way!” For the first time, Dumbledore’s voice rose as an expression of grief passed over his features. “Percival would have never agreed to this plan, if he knew the danger his city, his Aurors, his community were in. But it wouldn’t have stopped Gellert from pursuing the Obscurial and if he succeeds in harnessing that sort of dark force; this war will be over and we will have lost everything.”

Reaching up to brush his hand over his short beard, Dumbledore, forced himself to calm down before he continued.

“The best I could do was put Newton on the path to Sudan, and though I honestly hoped he could … save that child.” Dumbledore shook his head, his shoulders folding inwards slightly as he walked over to sit down on a stone ledge. “It was the only way I could provide him with exposure to what was to come.”

“Scamander doesn’t … no, of course he doesn’t know. Tell me Albus is that Hufflepuff you’re betting our lives on, aware of any of this?”

Again Dumbledore simply shook his head, though now his eyes were cast down as he watched his hands where they hung between his knees.

“There are blocks on his memory, but I suspect they are deteriorating; he is incredibly strong willed.” 

Pervina suspected she should be quite angry with her friend and the actions he had taken, the gamble he had cast with the lives of two men who were not entirely aware of the risks. But she understood that Dumbledore’s mind worked in ways that was beyond normal wizards. It was what allowed him the capacity to execute tactics against a strategist like Grindelwald, where all others had failed.

After a moment, she walked over to him (forget the damn edge and ridiculous height) standing at his side and laying her hand on his shoulder.

“Graves is going to have words with you, when this is over.” She said, trying to provide her old friend with the assurance that despite what he’d just revealed; she still had hope in his plan. Still believed in _him_.

Dumbledore looked up, his expression grateful, and he tried to smile but it was a brittle thing.

“You do not know,” he began, his voice a rough, broken whisper. “How deeply I desire that they survive this, to deliver those words.”

Pervina stared down into his haggard face and was reminded that no part of any of this could be easy for him. From sending good friends into an impossible series of traps, to springing the ultimate trap on a man whom she suspected her old friend still loved. Slowly, she bent and wrapped her arms around Dumbledore’s shoulders, drawing him close and resting her cheek against his hair.


	7. Someone said angst?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I heard that some of us enjoy a little angst with our holiday preparations? 
> 
> How does a chapter of Graves and Grindelwald sound to everybody?

Percival Graves had a very dry sense of humor that occasionally bordered on the gallows side. Such as the personal wager he had with himself over which was worse; the never ending struggle to defend his mind against the dark, crushing shadows that sought to suck life out of him, or the periods of lucidity when Grindelwald insisted on _conversation_.

At the moment, he was leaning towards conversation with Grindelwald.

When locked within his own psyche, Graves had little sense of the passage of time. He couldn’t have said when Grindelwald had last left or when he returned. There was a vague sense that the dark wizard was doing just enough to keep Graves alive, a sort of odd suspended animation that allowed his body to continue to function without much upkeep, but otherwise he was of little use to the man. 

His survival had always been one of the pivotal risks in the initial plan.

_’Wait, stop.’ Newt hadn’t spoken much as Dumbledore and Graves had discussed their plans with quiet intensity in the dark cabin on that craggy cliff. As such, when he did speak up, his soft voice had cut across their own strident tones, halting their conversation in its tracks._

_Even with these two men, to whom he was genuinely close; Newt’s eyes had skipped and skittered across the shadows playing amongst the rocks in the room. Now they were lifted and focused sharply on first Dumbledore and then Graves’ face. The waning moonlight washed all color out of the irises, and emphasized the pallor of Newt’s sharp features._

_‘Neither of you expect Percival to win this encounter with Grindelwald.’ It was part statement and part question … mostly statement._

_‘I’m afraid not’ / ‘It would be nice, but unlikely.’_

_Dumbledore and Graves answered together, one of top of the other and each shooting the other a rueful look. Newt scrunched up his nose, closing his eyes and giving his head a small shake as if he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of either of their mouths._

_‘So what, exactly are you suggesting? That this plan hinges on Grindelwald killing Percival and assuming his place?’ Newt’s expression, where it was now fixed on Dumbledore’s face, was less than impressed and starting to border in the edge of outright rage. While it heartened Graves, to see his normally gentle husband on the edge of going for Dumbledore’s throat, he figured he’d best intervene._

_‘We’re hoping to avoid the killing part.’ He clarified and that earned him an incredulous look that about sat him back on his heels. Newt did not often get high handed, but on the occasion when he was pushed to it, he did bear a remarkable resemblance to a very irate badger. Graves winced, inwardly and moved to try another approach._

_‘What I mean is …’_

_‘For Grindelwald to fully assume Percival’s identity his best choice is Polyjuice potion,’ Dumbledore took over, his voice wise and kind but also firm and brooking no nonsense. ‘Gellert will want that level of complete transformation, and besides that; power like Percival’s will be attractive to him. He’d rather bring it to his side, than destroy it outright. There is every reason to expect that he’d rather keep Percival alive, than kill him.’_

_‘But you can’t know that for certain,’ Newt challenged his professor, undaunted by Dumbledore’s firm tones. ‘And if either of you believed that Percival could win in a duel against him, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’_

_It was a statement that neither man could deny._

_Newt looked between them both, before he took a long, swift step that brought him right up into Graves’ personal space. He reached up with both hands, long fingers spidering tenderly as he cradled the older man’s face, ensuring that Graves’ dark eyes looked up into his own._

_‘He will hurt you.’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘He could kill you.’_

_‘Yes,’ Percival breathed the word, while quickly reaching with both hands to close them around the deceptively delicate bones of Newt’s wrists, keeping the contact between them when his husband would have yanked away. ‘But Albus believes that he won’t, and his reasoning is sound.’_

_Newt’s eyebrows slowly rose, his incredulity painted across his face and Graves saw the split second when the man was about to round on Dumbledore and tell his old professor where to take his reasoning. Percival quickly turned his head and pressed a kiss to one, calloused palm, teasing it with the tip of his tongue; an act that caused Newt to jerk his hand back, and refocus on Graves._

_Lifting both his hands to close them around the one still cradling the side of his face, Graves offered Newt a small, warm smile._

_‘Is this truly any different than any other day we live, beloved? You know every time I step out of MACUSA’s doors, what I face and I live every hour wondering when I’ll receive the owl that informs me you’ve gone and gotten yourself trampled, gored or walked in front of a damn bus chasing a Billywig.’_

_‘That was one time!’ The protest came quickly, though Graves simply gave Newt a gentle shake._

_‘There have been two instances. I know because I spent upwards to forty-eight hours sitting on a wooden stool by your bedside waiting for your impossible self to regain consciousness. Do not argue this with me; my ass remembers that wooden stool.’_

_In light of the last sentence Newt looked properly chastised and in light of the argument as a whole, his shoulders were beginning to drop as he appeared to slowly accept the point Graves was trying to drive home._

_‘This time…’ he began softly._

_‘This time is different only in that we’re aware of the risk going in.’ Graves said, his deep voice firm as he forced Newt’s eyes to his own._

_‘I must do this, Newt, it is my job.’_

Despite the resolve with which he had argued, Graves had not fully believed he would survive until he’d woken up, captive and helpless but alive at least.

Most of Grindelwald’s appearances had been regular and unremarkable, usually perfectly timed to collect another sample of hair for a new batch of Polyjuice potion. There had been one time when he’d apparated in, thoroughly frazzled to yell at Graves about the paperwork on his desk, while rummaging his body to locate the key to his private office safe.

The amusement he felt after that particular incident had bolstered Graves’ spirits and given him a much needed advantage against his shadowy jailers. But it had also been long ago and any uplift he’d felt at the time was starting to wan beneath the crushing sense of exhaustion and the soft voices that whispered how easily it would be to just … _let go._

Graves had been wrestling with that very exhaustion (those same whispering voices) when Grindelwald made his appearance. It never failed to send ice down his spine, when he found himself staring into his own dark eyes, though it was hard to pull Grindelwald’s face into focus this time; he must be more exhausted than he realized.

It also seemed … too early for another round of Polyjuice, or was he truly starting to lose any semblance of an anchor to reality?

“Newton Scamander,” Grindelwald’s voice (Graves’ own voice) intoned the name and Percival couldn’t stop himself from responding, eyes opening and blinking up at the dark lord. “Ah, you do know the name.”

_Damn it._ Graves tried giving his head a simple shake, side to side and he closed his eyes as if to slip back to unconsciousness, though he felt more alert than he had mere moments ago.

Grindelwald’s hand caught his jaw (the touch was wrong, Newt’s hands were calloused, his own were too soft) yanking his head around until Percival was forced to look up at him. He watched his own heavy brows lift from the straight line they normally maintained, an expectant look crossing Grindelwald’s face.

“Tell me, how you know Mr. Scamander.”

_Well, let me see. I know he likes his tea unadulterated, his toast just slightly burnt and his eggs at no more than three minutes; a second over and he will look at you like a kicked Niffler. I know he rarely sleeps, but when he does, he will roll himself up in the bed clothes and if you try to catch one back, he will elbow you mercilessly in the ribs._

_I know he forgets which toothbrush is his. I initially thought he was just being a little brat about it, merely to irritate me. But I’ve learned he genuinely forgets which is why I wrap mine in a paper towel and hide it behind the shaving cream._

_I know he enjoys giving fellatio more than receiving because despite his haphazard manners, it’s hard for him to relax and let go, because it’s hard for him to trust. I know he only truly manages it when he’s beneath me. When he knows I have him protected in my arms, from the cruelty of this world, and I’ve pleasured him to the point where I know I’m the only thing on his mind._

Percival carefully folded those precious thoughts away, though the much closeted imp in him longed to say it, just to watch Grindelwald’s response.

Instead, he gave his head a shake and licked dry lips. When he spoke, he could barely recognize his own voice.

“Hogwarts,” he breathed out. 

“Yes. I saw his record. He should have been expelled, yet the full weight of that banishment was never enforced and he was allowed to keep his wand, all as a result of the intervention of Albus Dumbledore.”

Though he and Albus had discussed this possible eventuality, Graves still felt as if he wanted to vomit. That Grindelwald was speaking of Newt, relaying private transcript information … for whatever reason; the man had Newt in his sights. And Grindelwald was no fool. He was locked on to the connection to Albus and he’d somehow honed in on a connection to Graves.

Percival didn’t have time to wonder what might have transpired. It was all his exhausted, battered mind could accomplish, to make the logical connections. Newt was alive; Grindelwald would not be inquiring about a dead man. Grindelwald had reason to be sniffing around Newt, which suggested that Newt was tangled up with MACUSA; as the plan had dictated.

And lastly, Percival didn’t dare lie. Grindelwald was too good and Percival was too abused to pull off any fancy sort of fabrication. Taking a page out of his husband’s book of obfuscation, Graves offered a truth; a partial truth.

It was also, one of his worst memories. A memory that sat like a dark banner across his soul, weighing him down, which assisted him in selling his broken-ness to Grindelwald.

“I … turned him in.” 

_He’d come upon a terrible scene, Leta Lestrange, hanging from Newt’s lanky body sobbing into his shoulder. Newt had been standing off to the side, one arm around Leta’s slim body and seemingly in control of the nundu, which was drawing a breath, threatening to roar toxic breath across two cowering Slytherins. His bright blue eyes had flashed over towards Graves, widening and he’d shouted._

_‘It’s not… NO DON’T!’ But he got no further._

_The nundu’s sides were collapsing as it began to breath, forcing Percival to act. Wand flashing, he’d destroyed the creature with one well-placed curse, ignoring the way Lestrange screeched as he watched Newt yell a denial and throw himself across the body of the dead creature._

_‘No … no, ‘ Newt repeated the refrain again and again, petting the flat spikes. He turned his head, tears tracking down his expressive face and in the next moment, had launched himself upwards and at Percival. “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO KILL HER!”_

_Graves suddenly found himself with an arm full of coltish young man, a happenstance that in other circumstances had proved quite distracting. However, now it was all he could do to try to subdue Newt without hurting him. The ruckus had drawn a crowd, including a few teachers who were taking in the scene and drawing conclusions that didn’t necessarily align with the truth. But Newt was in no frame of mind to try to clarify matters, his grief over the dead nundu leaving him inconsolable and completely unaware of how bad it looked._

_It had also left an opening for Lestrange to insert her own version of events, which (once everybody calmed down) anyone who knew Newt well, saw right through. Unfortunately the damage was done and Percival’s testimony of the facts had been used to help get Newt expelled. It was a memory he lived with, every damn day of his life._

“For attacking other students with a creature.” He rasped out. "I got him expelled."

Grindelwald sat there for a moment, his fingers still firm on Graves’ chin as the man’s quicksilver mind slotted this confession into the bits of the puzzle he already had in place. Though Percival wanted to close his eyes, he knew he didn’t dare, least Grindelwald see it as emotion or an attempt to play him. 

But at the same time, he could see that Grindelwald was still tapping and turning the pieces of what he’d just learned. Trying to weight the likelihood that mere coincidence had brought Scamander, a man with ties to both Albus Dumbledore and Percival Graves, to New York.

After a moment, he pushed Graves face away and stood with a fluid sort of grace. Percival wondered what conclusion the dark wizard had reached and he felt his heart start to race at the very real possibility that the game was up. But Grindelwald still looked nothing more than slightly pensive as he stepped towards the shadows and apparated away.


End file.
